


Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Ole Oak Tree

by Cakepopple



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But mostly fluff, Could be platonic, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Is this how you tag?, M/M, Post Season 7, Songfic, adam ain’t dead u cowards, but adam and shiro are totes gay, but rlly, five feet apart, is there a tag for shiro angst, klance is tiny and in the background of like one scene, not in this fic at least, oh well you get it, shangst?, that sounds fake but ok, there isn't much angst, two bros chillin in a hot tub, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:47:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cakepopple/pseuds/Cakepopple
Summary: An Adashi songfic based on a cute song about a prisoner of war returning home to his lover. The song is really cute, but the lyrics aren't necessary to understand the story.ORShiro learns Adam's plaque was on a memorial to honor injured soldiers, not fallen ones. Gay panic ensues.





	Tie a Yellow Ribbon 'Round the Ole Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> If you notice any errors, feel free to let me know :)  
> Most of this was written/edited at ungodly hours, so I wouldn't be surprised.  
> Enjoy!

_      I'm comin' home, I've done my time. _

 

     Shiro didn’t consider himself a liar. If he said the whole time he was captured, tortured, and forced to fight for his life, he  _ didn’t _ think of Adam, he’d have to change that consideration. He had struggled through so many levels of hell, the number of which rose so high he’d lost count, and as cliche as it was, thinking of home was about the only thing that could soothe his anxiety. Patience yields focus his  _ ass _ . No matter how patient he was, he still felt anxiety prodding at his heart with every beat. He felt the uncertainty of his future, the uncertainty of which of the upcoming battles would be his last, the uncertainty of how everyone he loved was doing; it all whispered terror in his mind. No amount of patience could ease that burden. The only way Shiro could think to lessen his fear of the future was by thinking of a future better than currently seemed possible. A future back home.

     Even though they fought before he left, when Shiro thought of home, Adam was still the first thing in his mind. So imagine his disappointment when he he got home to find himself standing before his lover’s plaque on that damned memorial. He’d gone through the gates of death and back more times than anyone should, more than most people even  _ could _ , just so he could be here, just so he could see him, only to get here and find he was too late. Years too late.

     The fight was over, Sendak was gone, and Shiro was happy. There was no doubt about that in his mind. They’d saved Earth, after all. But somehow, Shiro felt he hadn’t saved a single thing. He sat, hunched, in front of Adam’s plaque with crossed legs and fidgeting hands. His fists opening and closing as he swallowed the tears bubbling in his throat. When he heard feet clicking on the floor behind him, he fixed his posture. 

     “What’s on your mind, Shirogane?” He recognized the voice as Iverson’s. That man certainly wasn’t someone Shiro had missed. He was always harsh, from what Shiro could remember, but the three years of Earth’s invasion seemed to have worn him out, if only a little. 

     The footsteps stopped before Shiro answered with a dry laugh, “I’m at a memorial, take a guess.” When he thought about it, it really wasn’t a dry laugh. He could hear the tears shining in his eyes. Boiling in his windpipe. Puddling around his heart.

    There was a beat of silence.

     “You… miss Adam?” He could hear Iverson shift his feet uncomfortably as he spoke. Shiro mustered the most sarcastic look he could manage with his reddening eyelids. It only served to make the standing man shuffle more. “You could, well, visit him if you’d like. I bet he’d be happy to see you, believe it or not. He seemed like he felt really guilty after you left-”

     Shiro let words sail on his shaky breath, “I could… he’d be happy to… what?” He gulped air, drowning in it, as the anxiety from a lack of understanding left him treading water.

     Giving romantic advice clearly wasn’t Iverson’s strong suit, something shown in the cautious tone of his voice. “Sure, I mean, I know you had a tiff, but considering all that’s happened, if you-”

     “No, that’s not what I meant, Iverson. His plaque is on this wall. Doesn’t that mean he’s…” Shiro’s eyes looked desperate as they sifted through his companion’s eyes for lies.

     “Mean that he was injured in the line of duty? And forced to retire early?” A choking sound echoed in the room. “At least until he’s used to his new leg enough to- Shirogane, what exactly did you… what’s with that look?”

     The man let his head loll backwards, rasping out, “I hate you.” He dragged his flesh hand through his hair, exasperated, ruffling it in frustration. “What the hell, man? What was I supposed to think when you brought me here, looking all- what the  _ hell _ , man?” His head dipped forward and he tugged at his hair harder, eyes stinging. 

     “Did you think he was dead?” Iverson sounded shocked.

     “ _ Obviously. _ ” He sounded broken.

     “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Shit.” Iverson’s shuffling increased. “Damn, I- let me- I have his address, let me give it to you. I- You know I didn’t mean to make you think that. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but,” He dropped next to Shiro, and when the sitting man lifted his eyes, he continued, “God, I would never do that.”

     “So you mean he’s alive?”

     “Yes, I-” Another sob filled the room as Shiro latched onto Iverson. Anxiety shook his body and he couldn’t feel his face. He couldn’t feel his hands, either, but he didn’t need to.  _ I’m not too late. Not yet. _

 

_      Now I’ve got to know what is and isn’t mine. _

 

     Shiro sprinted through the halls, tears drying on his lips, hands wiping his nose and dragging across his cheeks. The same cheeks he couldn’t flatten. His grin was infallible. A laugh fell from his tear stained lips as he spun around the corner. 

     In the living room Shiro stumbled into, Lance had been peacefully scrolling through his phone, until he heard heavy footfalls. His head lifted as he changed positions on the couch. “You okay, Shiro?” Shiro looked at him with the brightest smile he’d ever witnessed. Then he jogged towards him and gripped him under his arms, scooping him into the air like he was picking up a toddler, not a paladin of Voltron. And he wasn’t stopping his laughter, either. 

     “Yoooo-OKAY WHOA NOW,” Lance let out a panicked squeak when Shiro swung him in a circle. “ARE YOU HIGH?”

     “He’s alive,” Shiro cheered, ceasing the spinning in favor of suffocating the smaller boy in a bear hug to end all bear hugs. Lance was situated awkwardly, his armpits hung over his teammate’s broad shoulders. His feet couldn’t reach the ground and he couldn’t bend his arms to pat the other man on the back. 

     “Uhh, congrats, buddy,” he muttered, settling to pat Shiro on the back of his head a couple times, instead. “Who are we talking about?”

     “My fiancé,” he answered simply, continuing to hold Lance like he weighed no more than a bunch of grapes. 

     “Oh, yeah, obviously. Yeah, your fiancé.” Lance swung his legs, hoping to feel the ground sometime soon. His breathing hitched. “Wait, wait, wait. Your  _ fiancé?”  _ His legs swung faster. “Put me down, man!” He needed to ground himself. In more ways than one. Shiro failed to fulfill his request, smiling the same grin you’d see on a panting dog. 

     “Yeah, Adam is alive, and I’m gonna write him a letter, and I-” he started to ramble like a lovesick teenager. 

     “Hey, Lance I’m ready to go- Shiro?” Upon hearing his name, the man whipped to face Keith, dragging poor Lance along for the ride. Once again, like an excited dog. This only served to confuse the new black paladin further, “Are you high?” He strode up to Shiro, eyeing him cautiously. “Care to put Lance down?” 

     In his ecstatic haze, Shiro only halfway did what he was asked, passing Lance onto Keith, who held him in the same awkward, underarm manner, before placing his feet back onto the ground. “No, I’m not high,” he said, fixing Lance’s hair as a way to occupy his nervous hands. “Did you know Adam is alive?” The boy swatted his hands away, opting to correct his own hair. 

     Keith suddenly felt the need to fidget as well, a smile forming on his lips at the sight of his excited brother. “I did not.”

 

_      If you received my letter telling you I'd soon be free,  _

 

     The lovesick puppy of a man had been slaving over his desk, writing letter after letter for hours. Once he’d cleared his head a bit, he’d decided he couldn’t just head to Adam’s house, drop in, and expect him to be free, lest he sound like the man in “I Will Survive”. Now, here he was, digging his nails into a pen, while also digging through his brain for something worth writing. His insecurities were making it hard.

     He rocked his chair back, a silent groan rising from his stomach. Hunk had been in the room with him and took notice of his struggle. 

     “Having trouble?” The yellow paladin padded over to the man at the desk, an understanding smile on his face. Shiro answered him by grabbing the current letter on his desk, crumpling it, and tossing it across the room haphazardly. “Yikes,” Hunk sounded. “What’s not working for you, here?” He kneeled on the floor next to Shiro’s tilted chair. 

     “I know he was mad at me before, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m brushing aside his frustration.”

     Hunk hummed in thought before providing his answer, “What if you give him the choice on whether or not you two even meet up? Like, have him give you the green light before you visit him.” He grabbed another paper from a desk drawer, placing it in front of the disgruntled man. 

     “That’s a decent idea,” Shiro breathed, swinging his chair forward. “What if I have him leave some sort of a sign for me in front of his house?” The yellow paladin nodded and, deeming his work completed, stood up and made his way to the door.

     “Good luck, loverboy Shiro,” he teased. The adult groaned. 

 

_      Then you'll know just what to do, _

 

     He was excited when he mailed the letter. He figured since Adam had moved way out to the countryside to live with his family, it would take a week or so for the letter to get there. The decision had been made to follow its tail in about five days, so he’d get there a bit after. All he could do was hope for the best. 

 

_      If you still want me, if you still want me. _

 

     Hope Adam still loved Shiro as much as Shiro loved him. 

 

_      Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree. _

 

     Shiro had been to his fiancé’s current house quite a few times before he left for Kerberos. Though, it he couldn’t really say it was Adam’s, it was Adam’s parents’. He knew there was a beautiful oak tree down the driveway, resting next to where it joined the road. He knew it was still there, Iverson had informed him of that much. He’d seen it in one of his visits and, because it was easy to spot from the road, Shiro had asked Adam, if he still cared for Shiro, to knot a yellow ribbon around its trunk. 

     His memory of the tree was vivid, he’d spent many a pleasant sunset under it with Adam. He remembered one time in particular, a day during summer break while he and Adam were still students at the Garrison. By that point, they’d been together long enough for Shiro to have met Adam’s parents, so he felt comfortable accepting the invitation to stay with them for the summer. Every time he saw an oak tree, he found himself dreaming of those months in the countryside. 

     About a mile up the road from Adam’s house, there was a little town. It was quaint, nothing much, just a few little stores strung together, mainly for tourists. The day Shiro recalled, the weather forecast predicted rain, but neither he nor Adam were going to let a little water stop them from visiting the shop they wanted. 

     They’d left in the late morning, enjoying the well rested feeling of a slow, summer day. It wasn’t so much the lunch date that found a place in Shiro’s heart, but rather the walk home in the sunset. It was a decent stretch, the distance between the store and the comfort of Adam’s home, and it started to rain shortly after they started their trek. It hadn’t begun as a pour, but it certainly got there. At first, it was just a couple raindrops Shiro noticed on Adam’s cheeks. Then, a few more Adam found on Shiro’s eyelashes. Soon, a huge, mopey drop landed on the tip of Adam’s nose, and Shiro tilted his head back to laugh. He recalled the way Adam joined his mirth only after an even fatter drop lodged itself in Shiro’s exposed windpipe. He’d sputtered and wheezed, but throughout his struggle, he’d been filled with nothing but adoration for the way the man next to him was bubbling. 

     He remembered the way their laughter became faint and feathery as they sprinted the rest of the way to the house. Shiro had made it to the driveway a little sooner than Adam, but was yanked back before he could start up it. Adam tugged him under the cover of the oak tree, wrapping Shiro in his arms. The raindrops on Shiro’s eyelashes fell into those on Adam’s cheeks, and the droplets swirled before following the curve of his smile as it slid down his face. Their noses had pressed together. Their hands had followed suit. Their lips had too, but only for a moment, until they both pulled back, grinning. The two faced the sky, leaning against the tree. With linked fingers, they’d watched the ruby clouds roll in front of the falling sun. 

     That memory  _ was _ the oak tree to Shiro.

 

_      It's been three long years, do you still want me? _

 

     It had been three years since the fight with Lotor, but he wasn’t sure how long it had been since his infamous fight with Adam. Counting a year in captivity and a year as a paladin, that would make five years.  _ Half a decade, _ Shiro reminded himself. And he’d spent a lot of it mourning how he’d handled Adam’s concern. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. 

     When Shiro had been diagnosed with his fatal disease, he found himself relating very much to that one scene in Deadpool. The scene where he stares at his lover, trying to memorize every curve and edge of her face. He’d done the same with Adam, etching each miniscule aspect of his appearance into his own mind and heart. It pained him to know that the mental photo he’d forever possess would be one of such a sad look, but Shiro realized he probably didn’t have the time to be picky.

     Then came the struggle of the Kerberos mission. Before his diagnosis, Adam had been nothing but supportive of the journey, knowing how much it meant to his fiancé. After being told his lover wouldn’t live much longer, however, Adam became wary of the trip. Shiro understood. If Adam loved him, like he’d said many times he did, then he obviously wouldn’t want him to go. He’d want to spend every last moment with him. He only had so much time left with Shiro. He would be desperate to use it all, space missions be damned. 

     But it still frustrated Shiro. Didn’t he understand? Adam had a desperate feeling of need. The need to spend every waking second with what he’d soon lose. That ache he felt towards Shiro, was the same ache Shiro felt towards everything. Adam only had a little longer with Shiro, but Shiro had only a little longer with  _ everything _ . How could Adam possibly expect Shiro to choose between his lifelong dream and his lifelong partner? They both meant the world to him. 

 

_      If I don't see a ribbon round the ole oak tree…  _

 

     The paladins all decided to visit Adam together. If it went well, if they did find a ribbon, they all wanted to seize the chance to meet their previous leader’s fiancé. If it didn’t, they would obviously want to be there for their heartbroken friend. 

     It had been five days since Shiro mailed the letter, and as per his plan, they were loading up a Garrison rover with suitcases, preparing to head to the countryside. Everyone had already stuffed their belongings in the trunk. Everyone, that is, except for Shiro. The man spent hours scurrying around his room, failing to pack anything. He ended up settling in a sitting position on his bed, repeatedly scraping his nails along his jeans before flicking the lint off. By the time he stopped fidgeting, the tips of his nails were blue. With a groan, he fell back, running his indigo fingers through his hair. 

     “Wow, I see you’ve packed  _ so _ much,” Keith said, leaning against the doorway and eyeing Shiro’s empty suitcase. When the older man merely grunted in response, the black paladin trotted up and sat next to him on the bed. “What’s got you acting like a moody teenager?”

     Shiro gave him a sideways glare, saying “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” Keith mocked offense, placing his hand over his chest dramatically and adding a gasp for good measure. The former leader let his hands drop in front of his face. His eyes followed them, watching them jitter, shaking with nerves. “I’m just worried.”

     Keith placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. “I know the feeling.” He fell backwards as well, mirroring Shiro’s position. “But someone once told me that patience,” a grin, an audible one, was large on his face. The mischief was dripping from his voice, rolling into the room. “Yields focus.” He turned to reveal an even bigger, even more mischievous than Shiro had anticipated. The man whacked him in the face with a pillow.  _ He’s been spending too much time with Lance. _

     “Shut up,” Shiro groaned, “I’m serious.” Keith hummed in response, sitting up again before folding himself against the wall. He didn’t know people things.

     “What are you worried about? The ball’s in his court now. There’s nothing you can do.” Of course. What an irritably Keith thing to say. Clearly, he didn’t understand how anxiety worked. 

     Thousands of possible responses ran through Shiro’s head at once, though he kept them to himself. 

     What if Adam would just ignore the letter entirely? He had no way of knowing. He imagined his fiancé picking up the letter, eyeing it in disgust, then shredding it. The thought hurt. The image of his hard work in tatters before being so much as opened stung more than Shiro had imagined it would. He shut his eyes with a passion he’d never known.

     What if Adam found the letter childish? Found it naive of Shiro to expect even a semblance of forgiveness after what he did? He imagined it nailed to the tree, hanging with a bold defiancé, “I read your offer and I’m not interested.” Shiro felt queasy, raising a hand to his mouth like it would push his nerves back down his throat. 

     And then came what was quite possibly the most frightening thought.

     What if Adam accepted? What if he welcomed Shiro with open arms? What if, despite the blessing of a second chance, Shiro still managed to mess it up? He pictured all the ways it could go wrong, even under the best of circumstances. He felt helpless as more fears crawled from his stomach. Adam was smart, he could come up with some nasty insults when he wanted to, and the idea of another explosive fight like before was too much for Shiro. He let out shaky breaths and when he reopened his eyes, he swore he could see the anxiety clinging to each puff of air leaving him. 

     “I guess that’s what’s scariest for me. The uncertainty.”

     Another understanding look passed Keith’s face. He thought of the similar fear he felt when Shiro was missing. 

     “Yeah. I get that.”

     What if the ribbon wasn’t there?

 

_      I'll stay on the bus, forget about us, put the blame on me…  _

 

     The self loathing Shiro experienced after he and Adam fought was hard to express. He hadn’t said what he needed to say. He should have acted differently. And even though he knew he couldn’t go back and change the events that transpired, he still let his anxiety induced thoughts get too far into what could have been. 

     He could have told Adam everything he meant to him. Could have wrapped him up in his arms and apologized, all the while expressing just how much he cared. How he was the brightest star in his life and how he’d go through hell and back just to see that star continue to shine.

     Or he could have thanked him for caring enough about him to want to keep him safe. What he wouldn’t give to have that again. He’d complained about the coddling and, god, did he regret it. He’d told Adam he didn’t need to worry so much. As he was dying, he told the love of his life not to worry. If it had been Adam with the illness, Shiro had no doubt he’d coddle just as much, if not more.

     No wonder Adam left. 

     What kind of signal did he send when he told Adam not to care about his looming death?

 

_      If I don’t see a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree. _

 

     He wanted nothing more than to fix the mess he’d made.

 

_      Bus driver, please look for me, _

 

     They’d taken turns driving, switching between sleeping and driving so they wouldn’t have to pay for hotels. As they got within a few hours of Adam’s house, they switched one last time, Pidge driving and Shiro watching the road to make sure she didn’t pass out. Or crash. She’d just recently gotten her permit, after all.

     Lance and Keith were napping in the back, heads supporting each other in a way that made Shiro miss Adam more than he already did. At the same time, Hunk was trying to teach Allura and Coran Go Fish, but it wasn’t going very well, by the looks of it. Allura was too busy soaking up the landscape outside her window and Coran was too busy trying to find an Altean comparison to fish. Neither of them were focusing on Hunk’s words. They were hushed. He didn’t want to wake either of the sleeping boys with which he was sharing the back seat. 

 

_     'Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see. _

 

     Shiro tried to focus on the audiobook Pidge was playing, but his anxiety filled his ears, muffling all other sound. He started to bounce his leg. Shifting his gaze to the desert flitting by, he drummed his fingers against his seatbelt. It was boring, but counting the dying bushes he could see gave him some sort of distraction.

     “Would you quit that?” Pidge sounded irritated, eyes flicking over to Shiro’s twitching leg before landing back on the road. “You’re making me jittery. And if  _ my _ leg starts bouncing, this car’s gonna speed up real fast. Wouldn’t wanna wake up the sleeping beauties back there.” 

     “Sorry.” Shiro stilled his leg.

     “It’s fine. Wanna get whatever’s bothering you off your chest? No one else is listening.”

     “It’s just Adam,” he answered simply, setting his elbow on the edge of the window and his chin in the open palm.

     “Oh. Ew.” 

     “Excuse me?” Shiro’s eyes widened as he turned to look at her, a protective flare in his stomach. Why did she come if she apparently found Adam so repulsive?

     “No, not ew Adam,” Pidge clarified. “Ew feelings.” She reached to the monitor of the vehicle to pause the book, but when the car followed the direction she was leaning, Shiro took over.

     “Eyes on the road,” he scolded. The girl stuck her tongue out, rolling her eyes.

     “Boo, get off my case. You’re supposed to be venting. What exactly has you worried?”

     Shiro bit his lip.

     “Just worrying about what might go wrong. You know me.” Pidge nodded. 

     “Yeah. I do that, too.” There was a beat. “If you have any specifics, I’m happy to listen.” Another beat. “Well, not happy, but not unwilling, either.”

     “Thanks, Pidge. I’ll let you know.” With that, he resumed the book and turned to face the passing dirt once more. He found himself a little more at ease knowing his teammates, and friends, were there to pick him up again if things went south.

 

_      I'm really still in prison and my love, he holds the key. _

 

     The anticipation grew with every mile eaten off of the distance to Adam’s house and, somehow, it was heavier than any pressure he’d felt before. Even heavier than the pressure of choosing between the dream he’d had his entire life, and the man he’d hoped to have for the rest of it. He didn’t think pressure heavier than that existed, but now he knew it most certainly did. 

 

_      A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free. _

 

     Concluding that he’d spent far too long dwelling on what could, or already did, go wrong, Shiro decided to change his outlook. He always told his younger friends to think positively and maybe it was time he took his own advice. An idea played in his mind. An idea in which everything went  _ right _ when he got to Adam’s house. 

     He found solace in the image of a bright yellow ribbon, sure, but the image of Adam’s smile gave him so much more joy. So, Shiro imagined Adam waiting by the tree with open arms. He pictured leaping out of the car and into the embrace awaiting him. His cheeks stretched as he thought about introducing him to the paladins. 

     Losing track of time, his face had started to burn from smiling too much. The man let his grin shrink as he shut his eyelids, content with a small, but pleasant, curve to his lips. His breathing steadied. He was supposed to be the backup eyes on the road, but Pidge figured since she wasn’t tired, it would be alright to let him nap.

     The sun was low when he came back to the realm of the living. It hung from the mountains and mesas on the horizon, casting a scarlet gleam on the storm clouds sharing the sky. He resumed his smile, noting how similar the clouds looked to the way they had in his memories of the oak tree. As he shifted his gaze from the outside to inside of the car, he picked up on the fact that Pidge was no longer in the seat next to him. Actually, the vehicle was vacant, save for him. It wasn’t moving, either. 

     Shiro opened the passenger side door, stepping onto the dirt road with wobbly, lagging legs. He swore they glued themselves to the ground, begging him to sit back down and fall asleep again. He resisted, urging himself forward. The path under his dragging feet struck a chord in his mind, tugging at a memory he was too sleep stricken to identify. It wasn’t until he lifted his head to look farther down the path that he realized. Mere meters ahead, he saw him. And by the looks of it, he saw Shiro, too, as his glasses lifted with the edges of his smile.

     When Adam took a step in his direction, Shiro noted the color of his outfit.

     A stark, blinding yellow.

     “I didn’t have any ribbon, but I assumed a shirt would suffice,” he started, the glow of the sun behind him lighting the tips of his hair in an almost angelic glow. Curls of chestnut became swirled with gold when the shine hit them. Adam had barely taken a step before Shiro was sprinting at him, still stumbling over his straggling steps. His fiancé opened his arms expectantly, soft smile somehow more radiant than the setting orb behind him. 

     Shiro let out a sound of joy, softer than a laugh, yet not merely a breath. But as he went to embrace the man he’d longed to see for an indeterminable, though certainly large, amount of time, he tumbled to the ground. Adam disappeared. The sky was next, followed by the road he was crumbled upon. He whimpered.

     Soon, he was in the car once more.

     He’d never woken up, he determined, squinting at the blurred dirt outside his window. Whether the blur was from the car’s movement, or the tears swirling in his eyes and crashing down his cheeks, wasn’t something he wanted to admit or talk about. As he thought back on the dream, Shiro found few coherent words in his mind.

 

_      And I wrote and told him please, _

 

     “Please,” the former paladin begged on a breeze of a breath,

 

_      Whoa, tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree. _

 

     “Give me the chance to fix my mistakes. To make it up to you.”

 

_      It's been three long years, do you still want me? _

 

     Shiro’s train of thought changed once more. This time to the year or so he’d spent with the Galra. It was mostly a haze of sleep deprivation and the rush of soldiers, but he could make out bits in pieces in alarmingly stark detail. The pain was easiest to remember. His wounds might have gone numb over time, but he was certain he’d never forget the way they sparked and burned initially. 

     Pressing his left hand to the bridge of his nose, he flinched before reminding himself to think positively. He couldn’t go into it expecting the worst. He shifted a bit in his seat, but he hoped it wasn’t enough to alert Pidge he’d woken up. She was listening to her book on her headphones, presumably so she wouldn’t wake Shiro, and he’d hate for her to feel like her work went to waste. He shut his eyes again, hoping to fall back into the peaceful dream he’d imagined before. More often than not, his dreams were more like bubbles. 

     Not like a warm bubble bath type of bubbles. No, he could only describe it as a sort of glass cage at the bottom of an ocean. It was quasi impossible to make out anything in the surrounding murky water, the stifling darkness was so strong. Unfortunately for him, he could still feel the icy temperatures and the weight water pressure put on his bubble. Shiro could hear the deep sea noises with striking quality. 

     Then the water would shift. It would change from water to a scene from his past. He’d watch all the horrors of his life play out like a horror movie before him. After you see a horror film countless times, the mistakes characters make become physically painful. You’ll see them coming and you’ll find yourself shouting at the screen, telling them the right choice, begging they’ll somehow hear you and things will improve. But you’re in a bubble. They can’t hear you, they won’t acknowledge you, your words and actions are powerless.

     So Shiro screamed, pleaded, and broke down. He had to watch his every mistake on loop each time he closed his eyes. He became detached from himself, seeing himself merely as a character on a screen, a dumb one at that, messing up in the same spots over and  _ over _ . The man could recite every word from his argument with Adam; he could visualize his fights with beasts like a choreographed dance. Each time he slipped up, he’d pound the wall of his iron bubble and berate himself. How could he be so stupid, time after time?

     As he felt the exhausted pounding between his eyes ebb into unconsciousness once more, he could only hope his mind didn’t have bubbles planned. 

     Hopes don’t always come to fruition.

     Shiro was trapped into viewing the first battle after getting his new arm. He had stumbled the whole fight, coordination off as a result of immense pain and a steep learning curve. They didn’t give him a weapon that battle, forcing him to use the weapon they’d installed in his body like they were downloading software on a machine. From his invisible cage, he witnessed himself face the brink of death quite a few times, each go leaving the space between life and death smaller. 

     There was one swing he got particularly close, a swing that cut a nice gash down his torso. The real Shiro, the one viewing it all, subconsciously lifted a hand to the scar left in its wake and winced. The dream Shiro just fell backwards in shock. Pain wasn’t there for a minute. Then it swelled. From the low hum of a lone cello to the crescendo of a symphony, it grew. Like high notes shaking glass, it made his whole essence shiver, and he found his backside on the ground in seconds. The flitting tune of anxiety joined the throbbing music. 

     His eyes lifted to face the beast he was fighting and subsequently filled with fear. It felt like the music quieted when the beast resumed its attack. Shiro clambered backwards until he hit a wall. The music stopped and he shut his eyes. The Shiro in the bubble did, too. 

     He remembered all the things that passed his mind in that moment. He thought of Earth, of the companions he left it with, and he thought of his family. Most of all, however, he thought of Adam. A deep regret mixed with the horror and pain already in his veins and he felt even more helpless than he did before. He’d fought all this time to see Adam again, and here he was, dying without getting so much as the  _ chance _ to  _ try _ to escape. Hopelessness burned in his chest and behind his eyes as he cursed himself. Adam  _ told _ him not to go on this trip and he told him off. God, and he was  _ right _ . Shiro was dying of a disease anyway, but he wanted to spend his last moments with Adam, not some alien beast. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t noticed any symptoms of his disease lately. 

     Time slowed as he pieced together more. The disease was in his arm. The arm he didn’t have.

     The inner music started again, a bustling anthem of hope soaring in his lungs as it travelled to all of his muscles at once. He leapt up, just in time to dodge a fatal swing.  _ If I get out of here _ , he realized.  _ If I make it back to Earth, I can live back home, without worrying about my looming death from disease. Without putting Adam through the pains of watching me wither away.  _ A smile bloomed across his cheeks. They cured his disease. If he lived through his time here, he could live a long and joyous life with his fiancé.

     His surge of emotion didn’t come without a surge of strength. He felt the place where the robot arm met his shoulder get warm as the limb lit brighter. Shiro swung back at the beast without hesitation, determination pumping in his ears. His heartbeat drummed in his fingertips. The next swing of the arm meant the death of the beast before him. As he basked in the afterglow of his victory, he realized: he’d made the arm  _ his _ arm.

 

_      If I don't see a ribbon round the ole oak tree…  _

 

     Shiro stirred from the bubble less violently than was typical of those dreams. The swell of hope his dream counterpart experienced had somehow found its way into his own body. The dream may not have been real, but the adrenaline left as the aftermath certainly was. He lifted his head to gaze out of the now foggy window. There was a smudge shaped suspiciously like Shiro’s flattened cheek blurring the view, and a cloud of warm breath frosting a portion of the glass. Even so, he recognized the scenery. He winced.

     They were close.

     He wasn’t ready.

     Did his fighting mean anything?

     Not if Adam turned him away.

     He felt his mind swirl and he wasn’t sure how much of it came from the haze of having just woken up, and how much of it came from the panic rising in his stomach.

     His breathing was labored. His throat started to burn. His eyes glossed over. 

 

_      I'll stay on the bus, forget about us, put the blame on me _

 

     He should have gotten out faster.

 

_      If I don't see a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree  _

 

     “I’m so sorry.” The words hadn’t been able to produce sound, but he spoke them anyway.

 

_      Now the whole damned bus is cheerin' _

 

     “Hey, loverboy Shiro.” He blinked a couple times, trying to clear the shimmering from his eyes. The man looked back at Lance, who had apparently woken up, as he was the one speaking. The boy was smiling softly while pointing out the window. Shiro worked up the courage to follow the point of his finger.

 

_      And I can't believe I see…  _

 

     The shimmering in his eyes returned, despite his best effort to be rid of it.

 

_      A hundred yellow ribbons round the ole oak tree. _

 

     There his fiancé stood, engagement ring still wrapped proudly around his finger. Similar bands wound around the tree, brilliant shades of yellows and golds. They glittered orange in the fiery sunset. As if Adam hadn’t made his understanding of the letter abundantly clear, ribbons were also woven into his hair, glinting in the dusky light. His eyes and smile sparkled the same way. When he and Shiro locked eyes, all negative emotions fled the latter’s mind. It was like Adam shone a bright light on Shiro and all the negative thoughts slunk back to the shadows of his presence to be battled at a later date. 

     The car slowed to a stop before the paths and tree he remembered oh so well, but before it had even parked, Shiro was unbuckled and the door was opening. He leapt out of the moving van, tears leaping from his eyes with the same haste. He kicked up dirt in his rush, stretching his arms wide as he made his way to Adam. Adam looked a little shaken by his eagerness, but mirrored the gesture nonetheless, smile stretching further, crinkling his eyes so they sparkled more. Or maybe those were just the tears. 

     As they finally reached each other, they both squeezed with as much passion as one would expect when someone finds a single ray of happiness after years of hell. Shiro pulled back to press flitting kisses to each of Adam’s eyelids. He noticed the tiny scars from his crash like freckles on his cheeks. Another one of his kisses landed firmly on the biggest scar, running from the edge of his eyebrow, along his cheek, and down to his jaw. A soft smooch caressed Adam’s hairline, a gentle peck tapped his nose, and finally, Shiro’s hand lifted to the back of Adam’s neck as he placed his own lips gingerly against his fiancé’s.

     Adam wavered under all the affection, but his smile stayed stapled to his face. 

     Shiro couldn’t manage anything but a sad shift in his brows as he glanced at the biggest injury Adam had suffered in his absence. He stood on only one of his own legs, the other made of metal and plastic. Adam seemed to take it the wrong way.

     “Sorry,” he started, “I guess I’m a little broken now, aren’t I?”

     Shiro yanked him close again, shaking his head firmly enough for Adam to feel even though Shiro’s head was over his shoulder and out of sight. “You’re not broken,” the man started, murmuring the words against his lover’s neck. “You’re bent.” Adam didn’t speak in response, but his shoulders softened. “And everyone’s a little bent.”

     “I’m glad you’re home,” Adam replied, tears and a laugh both in his voice as he tightened his grip on Shiro.

     “I’m glad to be home.” He tightened his grip right back, a couple of tears dripping from his eyes as they shared another moment under the oak tree he was sure neither of them would ever forget.

 

_      I'm comin' home. _

**Author's Note:**

> Ahahaha, that's it!
> 
> Like always, if you want to make art based on this, feel free, so long as you credit me, as well as comment a link down below, cuz you bet your bottom dollar I wanna see. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! :)


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